


Pete Wentz’s Babysitting Career

by Monsieur_Grenouille



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Babysitter Pete, Child Patrick, Cute, Divorce, Feelings, M/M, Shyness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23417482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsieur_Grenouille/pseuds/Monsieur_Grenouille
Summary: Pete’s starting to babysit at the age of thirteen, and his first job is for a shy eight year old named Patrick.
Relationships: Patrick Stump & Pete Wentz, Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Kudos: 14





	Pete Wentz’s Babysitting Career

**Author's Note:**

> I wish I could babysit. I love watching children learn about things around them, and I’m pretty sure that babysitting would get me closer to teaching them. 
> 
> I don’t want to be a teacher, though, since my political views are too radical to teach anything. When I was in seventh grade, my math teacher had to sit down with me to discuss how my opinions on society are “too hateful” and “extremely controversial” and that I “hate the world for attention.” She also told me to lighten up when I told her I had gotten diagnosed with three different forms of anxiety, lifelong depression, and PTSD. 
> 
> But no. I truly believe the human race is digging its own grave.

Pete stood outside the Stumph household, moving back and forth on the balls of his heels. Tonight was his first time babysitting, and he was nervous. He’d prepared himself for tonight by reading the manual over and over and taking online courses for it, but he didn’t feel ready. 

What if he accidentally burned the child with hot glue? The thought made Pete flinch. Better stay away from the hot glue gun. Maybe a sandwich for dinner, too. No one ever got burned, cut, or slaughtered by a sandwich. At least he didn’t think so. 

Pete rang the doorbell, his hand shaking. He heard footsteps, then the sound of a doorknob unlocking. A young woman appeared at the door, wearing casual workplace clothes. She smiled and stuck out her hand. “You must be Peter!” she beamed. 

Pete shook her hand and corrected her, “You can call me Pete. Is this the right address?” He glanced down at the paper before realizing how stupid of a question it was. If she knew his name, it was _probably_ the right address. He suppressed the urge to smack himself in the face. He’d do that later. 

Ms. Stumph led him into the house, calling up the stairs for Patrick. Pete assumed Patrick was the kid he’d be caring for. 

A few seconds later, a shorter kid with glasses and a trucker hat entered living room. The colour drained from his face when he saw Pete. He hid behind his mom and whispered, “Who’s that?” 

Pete blushed as he introduced himself. “My name is Pete Wentz, I’m thirteen, and I guess I’m your babysitter for the night. Um... your mom is going to book club, right?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“O-Okay. Uh, so, I’ll be here until she gets back. Is that okay?” 

Patrick whimpered, “Do I have to call you mom?” 

Pete almost froze for a second. A part of him wondered where that idea came from, but he just cleared his throat and said, “No, Patrick, you don’t have to call me mom.” 

“What if I want to?” 

“Then... sure?” Pete shrugged and made eye contact with Ms. Stumph, who was trying to hide a smile. She walked forward and handed Pete a piece of paper. 

“This is an abstract outline of things Patrick likes, doesn’t like, and his bedtime. He’s really shy, too, so be careful with that.” She hugged Pete quickly and gave Patrick a kiss on the forehead before saying goodbye and dashing out the door. 

The next few minutes were awkward, since Patrick was just standing in the living room and staring at Pete. He didn’t say anything, but he looked deep in thought. Pete tapped his fingers at his sides, hesitating before saying, “I see you have a Star Wars shirt on. Do you... do you like Star Wars?” 

Patrick nodded. “I also like Ninja Turtles, Ghostbusters, and Batman. I’m not very unique, honestly. You look... unique?” 

Did Pete just get insulted by an eight year old or was that a compliment? Either way, he had gotten the shy child to speak. That was an ultimate victory. He walked towards Patrick slowly, getting on one knee to become eye level. Patrick backed away one step, but still cocked his head with curiosity. Pete smiled. Patrick shoved his hands in his pockets. “Are you going to be my new mom?” 

What _is_ it with this kid and calling Pete mom? Pete chuckled to himself and shook his head. “I’m not your mom, Patrick.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I didn’t give birth to you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I’m a guy.” 

“Why aren’t you a girl?” 

“Why aren’t _you_ a girl?” 

“Because girls are gross.” Patrick crossed his arms. “I hate them. I’ll never ever ever marry one.” 

Pete smiled and fist bumped Patrick. “Me neither, alright?” Patrick smiled shyly before grabbing Pete’s wrist and leading him upstairs. He stopped at the threshold of a bedroom with blue walls and shelves with legos on them. “Is this your bedroom?” Pete asked. 

Patrick nodded. “Yeah... I often clean it to avoid playing with kids my age. I play with my cousins, though. My brothers don’t like me since they’re older and have their own friends, so we barely talk to each other. It’s exclusionary and slightly demeaning, but I understand their perspective for the most part.” 

Holy crap. This kid’s vocabulary was bigger than he was. Pete took a second to process, then tried to help Patrick with some of what he just said. “Your brothers love you, Patrick. They just see you differently because you’re younger than them. I bet that they’d help you with anything if you asked.” 

“You think so?” Patrick pushed his square glasses further up on his nose, staring up at Pete in wonder. Pete nodded. For being shy, he sure was getting Patrick to talk. 

But what about dinner? Pete bent down again to ask, “What do you want for dinner?” 

“Anything you make is fine. My mom and I are vegetanarianen, so I can’t eat meat or fur.” 

HOLY CRAP THAT’S ADORABLE. Patrick could pronounce “demeaning,” “exclusionary,” and “perspective,” but he said “vegetanarianen.” Most of the time, Pete thought it was annoying when kids didn’t pronounce words right, but this time it was different. He made a mental promise to break the bones of anyone who corrects Patrick in the future.

Patrick tugged at Pete’s wrist again, pulling him as they went to the kitchen. “You’re really old, so you probably forgot where the kitchen was. This is the kitchen.” 

Pete chuckled, “I’m not _that_ old. I’m only five years older than you.” 

“You were in school when I was born!” Patrick exclaimed, but only after counting out the years on his fingers. 

Pete sighed, slumping his shoulders for dramatic effect. “I was in _kindergarten_ ,” he whined. 

Patrick shrugged apathetically. “Kindergarten is school, and school is school. Can I help you make dinner? I have my own stepstool and everything.” 

Pete nodded, looking through the cupboards for something simple. He found a box of mac and cheese and showed it to the eight year old. “You’re not allergic to anything, right?” 

“Just meat. And even that’s not an allergy. I just can’t have it.” He found his stepstool between the fridge and the wall and used it to get two plates from the cabinets. He set the table all by himself as Pete began boiling six cups of water. Patrick tried to help as much as he could, eventually cleaning the entire kitchen when Pete wouldn’t let him get near the stove. 

Pete looked up from stirring the pot, just to how things were going with Patrick’s cleaning task. Apparently, the kid was amazing at cleaning surfaces. It must be the introversion showing. Pete wanted to give him a hug, but he knew that kind of affection on the first night might scare the kid. 

Instead of being a creepy thirteen year old boy, Pete ruffled Patrick’s hair and said, “You did an amazing job at cleaning!” 

Patrick blushed. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “Are we friends, Pete?” 

Pete stared wordlessly for a second before saying, “Do you want to be friends?” 

“Y-Yeah. You’re really nice and I think you’re cute.” 

Cute? Did this kid even have the _right_ to call anyone cute? Pete smiled gently and thanked him. “I think you’re adorable,” he admitted. Patrick dashed forward and hugged him. His head only went up to Pete’s chest, so his arms were basically clasped around Pete’s hips. 

Pete hugged him back awkwardly before piling the macaroni into the bowls on the table. They ate dinner together, talking about music the whole time. Pete was slightly surprised when he heard Patrick loved Bob Dylan, much less _knew_ who he was. “Do you play any instruments?” he asked. 

Patrick shrugged and hid his eyes. “I play drums and piano. I’m not very good, though. Mainly because I’m eight years old and spend more time listening to music than I do practicing music. Do you play any instruments?” 

Pete nodded. “Bass. Mostly bass guitar, but my school has a fiddle club and they needed someone to do the pluck/slap thing, so I volunteered.” 

“Oh.” 

***************

After dinner, Patrick and Pete worked together to build a pillow fort. It was — according to Patrick’s imagination — Spider-Man’s secret base where he hid from Batman and Iron Man. “Because Iron Man and Batman fight all the time and it makes Spider-Man feel like he should be alone,” Patrick explained.

“Wh...Why does Spider-Man think that?” Pete furrowed his eyebrows. He knew that Patrick’s parents had gotten a divorce recently, which meant that Patrick most likely had coping mechanisms. Batman and Iron Man clearly represented his parents, but Pete didn’t care about that. He wanted to see how Patrick narrated Spider-Man’s feelings. 

“He doesn’t feel like he should be part of the superhero team because he caused the fighting. He’s the newest member and Batman and Iron Man never fought before he joined the team,” Patrick bit his lip. “But now they hate each other and Spider-Man doesn’t want to be alive.” 

Pete took a moment to process what he just heard. Some parts of the metaphor were clearer than others, like how joining the team was being born and how Batman and Iron Man were his parents. But... what about the part where Spider-Man didn’t want to be alive anymore? Pete hesitated before asking, “Do you think there’s anyone who wants Spider-Man to live?” 

Patrick shook his head. “No one would even notice if he went missing. He only makes things worse.” 

Pete held up a Darth Vader action figure. “Darth Vader wants Spider-Man to live,” he said. 

Patrick smiled for a second, but then it faded. “Darth Vader isn’t part of the superhero team... why does he care about Spider-Man?” 

Pete blushed and stammered until he knew what he wanted to say. “B-Because Spider-Man is a really cool guy. He’s very respectful and responsible, and he’s always there for people. Did you know that Peter Parker is one of the smartest people in his school?” 

Patrick sighed and set down the action figure onto the carpet. “My parents are divorced and it’s all my fault. I want to run away from home and never come back, just to make things easier for them. I don’t remember what I _did_ , but they never fought until after I was born. D-Do you think I’m a mistake?” He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes, scooting closer to Pete. 

Pete put his arms around the child and curled around him, protecting him from literally anything. “You’re not a mistake, Patrick,” he cooed, “Whatever happened between your mom and dad had nothing to do with you being born. I think you’re an _amazing_ kid.”

Patrick sniffled, “Was Darth Vader supposed to be you?” 

Pete nodded. “Me and everyone else who’s met you before.” 

“Oh... so I shouldn’t run away?” 

Pete squeezed Patrick closely and whispered, “Not a chance.” 

*******

Pete tucked Patrick into bed at 8:15, just like the instructions said to. “Pete?” Patrick yawned.

“Yeah?” Pete stood at the door. 

“Are you gonna come back and play with me again someday?” 

Pete smiled to himself. Patrick liked his company. “Um, yeah. As long as you need a babysitter,” he answered. 

Patrick nested further into his blankets. “Okay. Goodnight, Pete.” 

“G’night, Patrick. Sleep well.” 

Ms. Stumph came home ten minutes later. She saw Pete washing the dishes at the sink and called over to him quietly. “You don’t have to do that, sweetie. You’ve done enough tonight.” She took the dish from Pete’s hands and finished drying it. “Was Patrick good?” she asked. 

Pete leaned on the counter. “He’s an amazing kid, yeah. Um... he mentioned something while we were sitting in a pillow fort. It was about the divorce and how it made him feel. I don’t know if he’s told you yet...” 

Ms. Stumph looked up, interested. “What did he say?” 

“Well... he thought that you guys fought because of his birth. He also said that he wanted to run away because he felt like he only made things worse. I talked him through it for some part, but I think he needs to hear something from you,” Pete stared at the floor. 

Ms. Stumph nodded somberly. “How did you get him to say this?” 

“It was the storyline of his action figures. Spider-Man wanted to kill himself because Batman and Iron Man hated each other ever since he joined their superhero team. I improvised a part where Darth Vader loved Spider-Man and didn’t want him to die. Patrick opened up about his real life after that.” 

Ms. Stumph stayed quiet for a few seconds, just to process it. “My baby boy...” she whispered, “He didn’t even talk to his own mother about this. I’m gonna... I’m gonna go talk to him. This is honestly terrifying. Thank you so much for telling me. How about five extra dollars for your pay?” 

“No, that’s not—“

”I insist. Thank you so much, Peter. I’ll give you my number, since Patrick might want you to babysit again. Once again, it means so much that he opened up about this. Goodnight, Peter. Walk home safely.” She placed a twenty dollar bill in Pete’s hand before dashing upstairs to her son’s bedroom. Pete walked himself out, silently praying for Patrick’s safety in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Clean comments! I don’t know if saying this even works, or if it even counts as anything, but Kudos and comments are very much appreciated.


End file.
